I flit my fingers down over his shoulders, across his naked chest. There’s a smattering of dark, crinkly hair across his broad chest and a strip that leads down the center of his abdomen. The ridges of his abs call for my touch, and I let myself indulge in this. Logan was a good-looking guy in that good guy next door kind of way, and he took care of his body better than I do mine—he didn’t carry two nine-pound babies and one seven pound babyin a body that refuses to ‘bounce back’—but he wasn’t nearly as cut as Xander is. Xander has muscles on top of muscles, and I desperately want to run my hands over every solid inch of him. Shit, I want to run my tongue over every inch of him. Lick him like a damn popsicle.
I flush hot all over at that thought. Thinking about what’s pressing up between us right now, about how badly I want to see it, to touch it, taste it.
He growls low in his throat as my fingertips continue to wander over his skin, the tips of my fingers acquainting myself with every dip of his ribs, the ridges of his abs, the muscled swell of his pecs. His heart is hammering beneath my right palm where it’s pressed flat against him, and I revel in the knowledge that he’s just as undone as I am right now. I’m still trembling, like my body is so keyed up I physically can’t contain the rioting emotions and sensations combusting inside of me.
One of his hands cups the side of my face gently, his fingers tunneling through my hair, brushing it away from my face. His eyes are so clear, burning so brightly in the moonlight that continues to filter through the trees above us.
“You are exquisite,” he breathes so quietly I almost miss it. My heart nearly climbs its way out of my throat, and my nose stings with unshed tears. The sincerity in his tone nearly does me in. But I still don’t entirely believe it.
“I’m not,” I whisper in return, climbing my hands up to his shoulders again. A much safer spot. He’s just too damn gorgeous. There’s no way this is real, that he really wants me, not like this.
He shushes me with another deep kiss, those strong, capable hands bracketing my head again to hold me to him. When he breaks the kiss, he whispers, “I told you to stop doing that. You drive me absolutely crazy, Teddy. You have since the first time I saw you.”
A stunned, stuttered laugh escapes me. “You can’t be serious. You don’t mean that.”
Brushing my hair away from my face again, he smiles gently at me and my heart does that flip flop thing in my chest all over again. “Idomean that. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
I shake my head in awe at his words. “But I was?—”
“Married. I know,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine. My face goes hot and I avoid glancing down at the silver band that still encircles that finger. “Your hair was longer and you didn’t curl it like you do now. You had different glasses back then.”
I swallow hard, staring at him. I mean, I’d noticed him, too—I’d been damn near struck stupid with how handsome he was. Even happily married, it had been impossible not to notice him any of the times I’d seen him when I’d been around Cal.
“Even married, even pregnant with another man's baby, I still wanted you. And fuck I hated myself for it,” he rasps brokenly. The breath that pulls in through my lips is ragged, emotion fraught. “You have dominated my thoughts for years, Teddy.”
My head is spinning. It’s all so much to take in, to process. Years. He’d noticed me for years. I let my fingers drift up the sides of his neck, lightly, just my fingernails dragging against his skin. His eyelids flutter and he groans low in the back of his throat at the same time goosebumps break over his skin. “I think about you a lot, too.”
“Yeah?” he asks, tipping his head to the side to graze his mouth along the underside of my jaw. I can feel the small smile that tips up his lips where his mouth is pressed to my skin. I tip my head back a little, giving him better access, and it’s my turn to shiver as he drags his teeth over the sensitive skin there. I nod brokenly and feel his lips tip up in a grin against my skin. “What do you think about, Teddy? Do you think about this?”
“Oh god,” I whisper up to the night sky above us. “Yes.”
“What else do you think about?” he murmurs, lips moving directly against me.
“How unfair it is for you to be this attractive.”
He chuckles, wrapping one arm around my waist to draw me closer against him. The chair groans beneath us and I bite my lip in apprehension. I’m going to either break him or break the chair?—
He stalls the worry by whispering darkly, “That thought is mutual, Teddy. What else do you think about, sweetheart? Tell me.”
His mouth fastens onto my throat, just above my collarbone and I can’t help the moan that escapes me, or the roll of my hips against him. He growls against my skin, thrusting his hips up. The friction is perfect. The way he presses against me feels so damn good. God, I want to be so full of him.
“You know what I think about,” I whisper breathily.
“I want your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself,” he breathes raggedly, and my eyelids flutter closed. “Fuck, Teddy. I need to know what you think about when you come with my name on your lips.”
“You. I think about you. Like this. About what it would feel like to have your hands on me. Your mouth,” I whisper into the night, keeping my eyes closed.
“Where do you want my mouth, Teddy?” he rasps, deep and growly. I clamp my teeth down on my lower lip. The dark roughness of his voice is skittering over every nerve. The man could voice audiobooks and women would swoon.
“All over.”
He brushes his lips across the exposed top slopes of my breasts. My nipples are hard beneath the thin fabric, but embarrassment and nervousness won’t let me say the words out loud. That was a no-touching zone for Logan after I had Dalton.
“Here?” he asks, trailing his fingers along the edge of my tank top, pulling it down slightly. I nod frantically. I’m so wet I’m aching. If he touches my nipples, I just might combust. They’ve always been sensitive, and they’re so neglected?—
He flicks one through the thin material and I gasp as thesensation ripples through me, all the way to the center of me. I can feel my body clenching around nothing; I want more. I haven’t had more in so long. And when his mouth closes over it through the material, laving it with his tongue, I clutch his head between my hands, my own head dropping back while I try and fail to stifle the whimpering moan that cuts through the night around us.
His other hand works its way under the fabric, pulling it down so that the material is bunched beneath my breasts now, and then his mouth is on me again while his fingers pluck at the other.
